Zevran Undone
by Kira Tamarion
Summary: Zevran is ready to die; all he has to do is attack the Warden. Then he runs into an emerald-eyed elven woman and his control unravels. The connection forged between Zevran and Tabris' former betrothed Nesiara that day would carry Zevran through the Blight and his soul out of darkness.


_AN: This was written for the CMDA Mid-Summer fic exchange, as a gift for Anglarite  
_

* * *

**Zevran Undone**

Nesiara, an elven woman from the Highever Alienage, was an extremely gifted weaver. She was entranced with the colors and patterns of Antivan goods and created fabrics in the Antivan style. Her friends urged her to show her work to one of the human merchants, Ryan Malloy, who dealt in Antivan goods. He agreed agreed to sell her creations. Ryan was a greedy man and took a 60% share, but that still left just enough to buy for more supplies and help support her family.

A year later, she left for Denerim to be married.

* * *

The events after her arrival in Denerim were like scenes from a nightmare. After being rescued, Soris was arrested and her betrothed, Darrian Tabris, was conscripted into the Grey Wardens. It took Nesiara over a week to recuperate from the physical injuries, but the emotional scars would remain. Her parents wanted to return the dowry, but Cyrion bade them to keep it. Her heart went out to the man for losing Darrian _and_ Soris, but she didn't know what she could do to help. Fortunately, Cyrion's niece, Shianni, convinced him to allow Nesiara to stay with him; she needed a place to live and he didn't need to "rattle around" in the empty house.

Fortunately, Nesiara was able to bring her loom from Highever; aside from her clothing, it was the only thing she was allowed to bring. It was her hope to arrange a deal with a Denerim merchant; similar to the one she had in Highever. After speaking with Cyrion, he urged her to spend some of the dowry on materials and suggested approaching Master Ignacio. "He is a businessman. He doesn't look down on elves, especially if there is coin involved, and he should be able to command a high price for your work."

Shianni thought this was madness, "Nes, it's dangerous out there, and Darrian won't be around to rescue you." However, Cyrion knew that while Nesiara was kind and loving, she also had a backbone of steel. "Shianni, Nes isn't going into this blind. We must trust her instincts."

Nesiara nodded, "I'm under no illusions, but if I can make deal at least as good as the lousy one I had in Highever, I can make a real contribution to the Alienage. Shianni, reluctantly, agreed.

During the month following the disaster at Ostagar, Nesiara worked hard and wove two types of cloth, in different patterns, to show to Master Ignacio. When she finished them, she approached the Antivan merchant.

She could tell that Ignacio was a smart man, and a shrewd one. She went to his table and assumed the same subservient attitude she had seen in many of the Denerim elves.

"Master Ignacio, my name is Nesiara, might I please have a moment of your time?"

Ignacio looked at the beautiful green-eye elven woman. She was wearing a dress in Antivan-style cloth, not rags as some of the other elves wore. The color went well with her wheat blond hair and creamy skin. Intrigued, he smiled, "You may have more than a moment. Where did you get your dress?"

"I wove the fabric, and a friend sewed it for me."

Ignacio was surprised. "Do you have more of this cloth?"

"Yes, I do." She proceeded to take the two pieces from her large basket. Slyly, she spread them out towards the corner of his table. Not only could Ignacio see them, but they also in the sunlight where the bright colors would attract attention to those waking by.

Suddenly, Nesiara was shoved back. "Out of my way, elf!"

Nesiara was stunned buy the ill-tempered human woman, who she figured to be a noble. She looked to Ignacio, who gave her a small wink before he turned his attention to the woman.

"My dear Lady Habren, is there something here that interests you?"

"How come _I've_ never seen these fabrics before? Do you have more? Has _anyone_ else purchased them?"

"My Lady, they are a very recent acquisition."

"I want all of it. I want to make sure I have a dress made from this cloth before anyone else. Elsa, that slut, will be green with envy. Will you have more?"

Ignacio bowed. "I expect to."

"What are you charging?"

"Fifty sovereigns for both." The sum staggered Nesiara, but the Habren didn't blink.

She looked at her servant. "Well, what are you waiting for? Pay him."

The servant gave him the fifty sovereigns. Habren took the fabrics and, as she left, pushed Nesiara, again. She thought Lady Habren was a shrew, nothing but a spoiled child of a noble family. She has seen women like Habren in Highever and in Denerim, but even among _them_, her churlish attitude stood out.

She looked at Ignacio and smiled. "I can provide more of these. If you like?"

Ignacio realized why Nesiara had arranged the fabrics on his table as she had, and laughed. "What will I have to pay you and will you do special orders?"

I would like at least 50% of the proceeds. I will do special orders, and I expect you would charge more for them."

"My dear, you are too generous with your offer. I will make plenty of money if I take 30% and you if use the extra 20% for finer materials, we will make even more coin."

Nesiara held out her hand. "Deal."

Ignacio took her hand, and kissed it. "I look forward to a long partnership."

Pleased with the arrangement and how it would help Cyrion and the Alienage, she wasn't watching where she was going and ran smack into a leather breastplate.

0000000

His body moved through the crowded Denerim Market District but his mind was elsewhere. He knew his mark. He knew where the Warden was, and he knew how to strike. He also knew that attacking the Warden would be suicide, and that's the reason he bid for the job. He was focused, ready for an end to his anguish, his guilt, and his grief; the focus gave him a large measure of peace as he walked through the market

His inner calm was suddenly shattered when something collided with his chest. His senses were quickly overwhelmed. The sites, sounds, and smell of the market ripped apart his focus as they flooded his awareness. Anger filled his eyes, as he looked to whoever or whatever was responsible.

The only thing he saw were impossibly green eyes, looking at him. Then he heard a soft voice, "I'm so sorry! Please forgive me." For some reason, he could not understand, her voice was like a balm: tender and soft, soothing his anger, giving him back his solace. The relief was so strong that he dropped his guard, exposing his inner torment. But it was only for a moment. He quickly recovered and looked at the beautiful elven woman standing before him.

"Please, no need to apologize. Having a beautiful woman fall against my chest is hardly an imposition."

0000000

After her apology, Nesiara saw the anger leave his amber-colored eyes, and, for a brief moment, she saw a soul in anguish. However, as quickly as the image appeared, it disappeared, hidden behind a mask. He flashed her an amused grin, and she knew his flirtatious response was part of a carefully crafted facade.

Her gaze moved from his eyes, to the tattooed black lines on the left side of his face. They began at his forehead, and gracefully swirled around the side of his eye and cheek, ending just before his jaw. He was exotically handsome, but something else, something she couldn't name, had drawn her in.

"I do appreciate your kindness in the face of my clumsiness, ser."

0000000

This woman's eyes and voice unexpectedly and completely disarmed him. It also exposed his vulnerability and inner turmoil. He had recovered quickly and was, once again, Zevran Arainai, the flirtatious and flippant Antivan Crow, with a lust for life and a taste for death. But he knew he had to leave her presence, quickly. He couldn't risk another chance of loosing his hard won control, to the depths of her eyes.

He bowed. "Think nothing of it. Now, regrettably, I must leave."

She could only nod as he quickly walked away, disappearing into the shadows, and from her life.

* * *

Death did not find Zevran. Instead, he woke up on the ground, looking up at the elven warden who had spared his life. He asked Zevran to help him, and the other companions, gather support against the Blight. Zevran quickly thought about it. Perhaps the mercy he'd been shown, and the opportunity he'd been given to save lives, would expiate his nearly crushing guilt and heartache,

It didn't, but over time it helped him keep those emotions at bay. Laughing and flirting with everyone in the party, he told stories about his days in Antiva, and he certainly enjoyed killing darkspawn. However, the anguish he'd hoped to escape in death still haunted his dreams.

He found that the only thing that gave him any peace was the one thing he had tried to ignore: the magic of those emerald green eyes, and the tender, soothing voice.

* * *

It was six months after Ostagar, and Ferelden was being torn apart. Even so, business at the Denerim Market was brisk. Nesiara supplied Ignacio with fabrics and she used her, rather substantial, earnings to support herself and help the Alienage. Despite the chaos, her life was very busy and productive, but no matter how hard she worked, she never forgot the blond elf with the amber-colored eyes, and the tormented soul.

* * *

He was back in Denerim. They were looking for work to fill their empty coffers. So while the Warden talked with the sergeant, Zevran roamed the Market. His thoughts strayed, as they often did, to _her_. The hold she had on his soul both fascinated and freighted him. Somehow, she had broken past his defenses, something he swore no one would ever do, and live.

Then he saw her.

As before, she was speaking with Ignacio. Zevran stayed at a distance and simply watched. She was slender, with blond hair the color of golden wheat. Unlike most city elves, she held her head high, and carried herself with grace and strength. Zevran admonished himself for what he felt. _Brasca! She is but a woman, like all the others I have seen, used, and discarded. _

Zevran was about leave when she turned towards him.

0000000

Nesiara felt like she was being watched. As a female elf, she knew to be conscious of her surroundings. More than once she had to quickly duck into a shop, or hurry back to the Alienage, to escape ill-intentioned humans.

This was different: she felt no fear. Instead, she felt the pangs of something familiar, and it called to her. She knew who it was before she turned around. When she did, she saw him standing several feet away: the tattooed elf with the amber-colored eyes.

She looked at him as if she had known he was there. _How was that possible? _Once again, even at a distance, her eyes captured him. They shined light on the part of him that he had tried so hard to hide and pretend didn't exist. He felt like a rabbit caught in the open - frozen, and unable to move. He desperately wished he could hide his soul from her, as hid his body in the shadows. However, instead of walking away, he found himself waking towards her. His gaze never left hers.

They stood a few handbreadths apart. For Nesiara, the look in his eyes was heartbreaking. She saw the fear and the anger as clearly as she could see him. She felt the pain, deep within his spirit, as if it were her own. She had never experienced anything so powerful, and it scared her.

Shr knew she was intruding; seeing, and feeling things inside him that she had no right to, and that it fueled his anger. Her heart was pounding in her chest; she knew danger lurked behind his eyes. He wanted her to let go, but she didn't know how.

"Ser, I don't know –"

Then, unexpectedly, she heard a voice from her past.

"Nesiara?"

"Darrian?"

Standing before her was her former betrothed.

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Zevran knew she saw the emotion in his eyes and felt the pain in his heart. Places no one was ever allowed to go were now laid bare before her. He needed to be free of her, to punish her for finding a way inside, making him feel vulnerable. The assassin in him reveled in her fear as she saw the danger in his eyes. He was a coiled snake, ready to attack. _How can I kill her? How can I not?_

Then he heard Darrian utter her name.

Zevran knew he had lost the opportunity to strike. Then he felt Darrian's hand on his shoulder.

"Zevran, this is Nesiara. She was my betrothed before I joined the Wardens. Nesiara, this is Zevran Arainai, from Antiva. He has joined me and my companions in the battle against the Blight, and this damned civil war."

Zevran closed his eyes, and tried to take hold of his emotions before the spiraled out of control. He executed a quick bow, "It is a pleasure to meet you." Turning to Darrian, "My Dear Warden, I fear that my presence here may attract trouble. I must go back to the camp."

Darrian nodded and Zevran quickly left.

0000000

Nesiara tried to feel happiness at seeing Darrian, but all his presence did was bring back the horror of that fateful day.

"Why are you still in Denerim? You _do_ know we can never marry?"

His response annoyed her. "I'm not waiting, or pining, for you. I'm here because I chose not to return to Highever."

"Nesiara, the Denerim Alienage does not need another mouth to feed."

"I pay my own way."

"Doing what?" Condescension was clear in his voice.

She was angry. "I see you fail to remember, or don't care to, that I'm a skilled weaver. I sell what I create and I make enough to support me and help the Alienage."

Darrian was taken aback by her self-assurance. _Had she always been that way?_ Their interrupted wedding seemed like a lifetime ago, and he realized how little he had known of her, besides her beauty.

He changed the subject. "So, it seems you and Zevran know each other."

"No, we have never been introduced. I saw him in the Market about a month after you left, and not again until now."

Darrian's eyes narrowed, and he said more to himself than to her. "That must have been just after he'd taken the contract."

"Contract?"

"Yes, he is an assassin and was sent to kill me. Obviously he didn't succeed." Darrian flashed a self- satisfied grin.

Her eyes grew wide. "Obviously." _An assassin? Perhaps I was in more danger than I thought._

"It turns out he never planned to succeed. He took the contract as a suicide mission. Which, happily, he also failed."

She was lost in thought. _The haunted look, the heartache, the pain; that's what I saw under the mask, that's what I continue to see._

"Well, I'm sure you have Warden business to attend to. I must go back to the Alienage. It was…good to see you again, Darrian. I will pray that your quest is successful. Good day."

Without waiting for a response she turned around and left. As she walked home, she thought about Zevran who had suffered so much, that he sought to end his own life rather than that of his victim, Darrian.

0000000

Zevran couldn't believe that the woman, Nesiara, was Darrian's betrothed. The Warden had told him about how he was conscripted, how he saved Nesiara, and others, from the hands of that vile pervert, Vaughn Kendalls. _She must still bear the emotional scars._ Zevran wondered if that is what drew them together: their pain and their scars.

Never in his life had he felt such a connection with another being. Rinna was the only one who came close, and even that couldn't compare. He never wanted to feel this way ever again, but life it seemed, had other plans. He was still alive and found that his connection to Nesiara, a woman he barely knew, held him back from the abyss. From then on, instead of trying to forget her, he welcomed his memory of her.

* * *

The Alienage was being ravaged by some kind of plague. Tevinter healers had arrived, and created a hospice in the apartments next to Alarith's Store. The healers declared the hospice to be quarantine. Elves, sick or no, were taken into the hospice. Cyrion, who showed no sign of illness, had been taken the night before, and Nesiara and Shianni were frantic. They knew the mages were lying, but neither of them could get any of the others in the Alienage to band together and fight.

Later that day they took Nesiara. When she was pulled into the hospice, she realized, as she and Shianni suspected, there was no plague, but something infinitely worse - slavers. She resisted them. When they touched her, she was transported to that day, many months ago, when she was at the hands of those wretched humans. To her, she was once again fighting that vial pig. She began to kick and bite and scream until, suddenly, blackness overtook her.

0000000

The Warden and his companions were in Denerim, having succeeded in gathering an army to fight the Archdemon. Now they were trying to find a way to end the divisive regency and unite Ferelden. Ferelden politics made Zevran laugh. Between Orlais and Antiva, the Fereldans had much to learn about power and how to wield it, but Zevran shrugged to himself. _It is a young country, eventually they will learn._

Their quest to discredit the Regent brought them to the Alienage. Zevran surreptitiously looked about, hoping to find Nesiara. He saw nothing and, most troubling, felt nothing. Darrian began to speak to a woman named Shianni, a red-haired spitfire. She explained to them what was happening. He and Tabris had already figured out that the Tevinters were slavers, and then he heard Shianni say, "They took Nesiara early this afternoon."

Time stopped for Zevran. All of his carefully crafted control spiraled away, leaving him with pure rage. He bared his teeth at Darrian. "We break down the door, now!"

Darrian was taken aback by Zevran's sudden ferocity, but he nodded. "That is _exactly_ what we're going to do."

As they went through the building, Zevran eliminated the slavers with deadly efficiency. They had released several slaves from a holding room, but Nesiara wasn't among them. He fought like a man possessed. His companions saw a completely different side to the easy-going assassin: he made no jokes, he didn't taunt any of the slavers; he just killed them.

They entered a large room and Zevran felt her before he saw her. He looked at the cage, in the farthest corner of the room, and there she was, packed in, like cattle, with other elves. A mage stood in front of them.

0000000

Nesiara woke up in the cage with Cyrion and about ten other elves. Cyrion helped her to her feet. "You gave them quite the fight, Nes; I was afraid they were going to kill you."

Cyrion looked like he had aged ten years in the day since he'd been captured. Nesiara hugged him; he had been like a father to her and she would do anything to keep him safe.

Then a mage, who called himself Caladrius, stood in front of the cage. He looked at Nesiara. "You should be grateful. Your value, unblemished, is worth more that all these guards earn in a year. I was the one who saved you from harm."

Nesiara spit at the mage. "You are nothing but a worthless brute. I owe you nothing!"

Caladrius knew he couldn't mare the beauty of this elven woman, so he turned his eye to the man she had hugged. "You must remained unmarked but that does not apply to him." As he motioned to Cyrion, lightning came from his hands and its tendrils flowed along Cyrion's body as he screamed.

Nesiara saw the lightening continue to rip through Cyrion. She begged the mage, "Stop. I'm sorry. Stop. Please, I beg you, don't hurt him!"

The lightning stopped and Cyrion would have collapsed if not for the younger, stronger elves that surrounded him.

Caladrius reached through the cage and held Nesiara's chin. "If you weren't worth so much, I would buy you myself."

At that moment the door burst open; Nesiara knew he was there before she saw him. Standing among his companions, with his daggers drawn, was Zevran.

0000000

He saw the mage's hands on her; the look in her eyes was a silent plea for help. For next several minutes, all Zevran felt was a blinding, savage rage, which he visited upon the enemies that stood between him and Nesiara. He viciously fought, until the last breath left the Tevinter mage's body.

The cage was opened and the elves walked out, but Zevran couldn't look at her. He thought she would be frightened at savagery with which he had dispatched the slavers. Suddenly, he felt fingers gently touch his face. They were like a cool breeze, as they traced the tattoo. He took her hand as he looked at her; her green eyes were bright with tears. Her pain became his pain, and he tried to sooth her as she had soothed him.

Slowly and silently he drew her into his arms.

0000000

He said nothing, he took nothing; he simply held her. A man who she had only met twice in her life, had taken her into his arms and soothed the fear that shook her small frame.

0000000

Zevran was surprised at the feel of her body against his: it was both familiar and welcoming. This amazing woman had, literally, crashed into his life, a life he was prepared to end. Somehow their connection had given him strength and held him back from the precipice. They had not spoken more than a four sentences to each other, yet here he was holding her in his arms, thankful that she was safe, and those who threatened her were dead.

For several moments it felt like they were the only two people in the room. Suddenly, Darrian cleared his throat. Both Zevran and Nesiara looked at him.

Darrian hated to interrupt, but he had no idea how to respond to the scene in front of him. He knew that Nesiara and Zevran had only met twice, but what he saw was a profoundly deep connection between the Antivan assassin and his former betrothed. He knew he should feel jealous, even betrayed. But the purity of emotion that surrounded them was too beautiful for Darrian to feel anything except wonder.

0000000

She wasn't ready to leave comfort of his arms, but it seemed that Darrian was in a hurry. Reluctantly, she drew away from Zevran, put her finger to her lips then to his, and, without another word, she followed the rest of the elves back to the Alienage.

* * *

After that day in the Alienage, the connection they shared strengthened and helped carry him through the final battle. After which, he pushed through the crowds of celebrating soldiers and civilians until he reached what was left of the Alienage.

There she stood, waiting for him.

Dropping his weapons and removing his helmet he went to her, she met him halfway; he took her into his arms and kissed her. Opening his soul to the emerald eyes that had been his salvation and his strength over the past year.

She felt Zevran drop his mask, letting her feel a heart and soul that, like hers, carried scars, but now glowed with strength and with joy.

"I love you, Nesiara."

"And I, you."


End file.
